


Day Shift

by GabrielVincent



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Actually definitely AU, Except we call him Schmidt here, Librarian AU, M/M, Sort of AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabrielVincent/pseuds/GabrielVincent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus Schmidt is a librarian because he likes the quiet. One day Erik Lehnsherr appears, and it's really not very quiet at all. <br/>Note: Erik is 14, Klaus is 35. They have sex. Just to warn you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this has been about eight weeks in the making, as in the idea of Lolita!Erik blossomed between myself and my friend before the summer, we discussed what might happen were they in a library, I went away for a month sans computer and wrote it in my notebook, I returned and wrote this in sections, sending it to friend for approval which took a while, and then there was this. So. This was fun. This was exciting. I hope you enjoy it. It would not exist without Chloe.

Klaus Schmidt sits behind a sprawling mahogany desk in an ancient, labyrinthine library. He has been alone all day so far- expected, for a week day. He wonders why they bother opening when no one's ever around, he wonders why he likes to take this shift- then he remembers, it's because he savours this peace amongst worlds and worlds of people safely kept in yellowed pages bound in beaten leather and painstakingly stacked, to be marvelled at or forgotten.

Little sunlight permeates the years of dust that have all but blacked out the windows, but where it escapes it forms tiny golden spotlights, illuminating particles of crumbling paper and dead skin. The light dances on the wooden floor and Klaus considers how majestic it could look if someone cleaned it- and yet, how cleaning it might somehow erase a part of its soul or history. He laughs at himself, his tendency to personify and form attachment comes too easily for a man of his age- and age he has to keep reminding himself of since he forgets so easily these days. It's actually a decade since he was twenty five, a decade since youth, since prospects and since relocating to this western outskirt and finding the quietest profession he could. This is because it's a decade since his sister caught him with a man's legs wrapped around his and his life was, for all intents and purposes as far as his father was concerned, emphatically over. These are thoughts he doesn't like to dwell on so much (it is after all, a decade since a man's legs were wrapped around his too) so he is relieved to be woken from this depressing reverie by a clatter of footsteps coming from around the corner.

He prefers to affect invisibility here, understands the pleasures of perusing a book without feeling someone's eyes on your back, but the newcomer coughs discreetly and Klaus looks up.

He sees lightly scuffed but mostly shiny shoes with careful bows. Neat white socks pulled to different heights, Pale legs with bruises on one knee, the uniform dark green of shorts that only begin at the very top of his thigh because they're rolled up- and a white shirt tucked in, sleeves about the elbow and enough buttons undone to reveal a scandalous glimpse of porcelain chest. When he meets the boy's eyes, he finds himself slightly slower to offer his usual friendly smile.

"Herr Schmidt, I wondered if you'd help me with a school project I'm doing," he says, and Klaus doesn't register him speaking until his gaze falls to his mouth and his ears adjust to the sound of his voice. He doesn't respond quick enough and the boy quirks an eyebrow and sort of smiles as he says, "I wondered if you could open that door for me over there," gesturing to the restricted area.

"Shouldn't you...shouldn't you be in school now?"

"I have the day off," he shrugs, and Klaus thinks, _so you wear your uniform and come to the library?_ but doesn't say it because he's already standing up with keys in his hand and he doesn't know why.

"Are you sixteen?"

"Yes," he says, _No,_ Klaus thinks and opens the door, wondering if he just imagined the boy inclining his head just a little so his eyes look wider and his bottom lip sticks out imperceptibly.

Once inside, Klaus stays in the room because it would be unprofessional not to do so. _The fact that the room is open is unprofessional._ The place is darker than the rest of the library, perhaps on account of it having no windows, or maybe because of the darker colours of the spines of most of the books here. It's totally dishevelled, neglected so long that no one would even consider beginning to sort it because it's so infrequently used. There's a chair in the corner of the room, it faces an ancient table as if some kind of inquisition was once held here. Klaus takes a sear and thinks about how one day he might at least dust these shelves, and that someone ought to try and alphabetise _some_ of these books, and the way the fabric of the boy's shorts stretches over his backside as he bends to look at a lower shelf. Klaus blushes and looks away. The boy turns his head and smiles- he caught him staring.

After a while, he seems to decide on something. He walks slowly towards Klaus, his gaze held on a specific page in the book he's holding. "Here, let me show you something," he says, and climbs onto Klaus' lap before he gets the chance to speak. Klaus nearly chokes as he wriggles backwards, beginning to see how an awkward situation might arise- and then he looks at the open page and has to look away and breathe deeply and keep his hands at his sides and his legs pressed together. The page is an illustration: a man sits atop a low desk, dressed in a sailor's cap and shirt but his trousers are pushed down to his ankles, between which another man sits, his head turned to the side so that the focus of the image is where his crudely caricatured tongue meets the sailor's cock. It's drawn like one of those dirty magazines, everything huge and grotesque and out of proportion, vulgar cartoons where the pleasure is half shocked disgust. It's not for the wide eyes of the boy on his lap, but he's not looking at it anyway- he's looking at Klaus, his mouth slightly open and a look of determination and power Klaus wishes he could affect himself. He tries to speak but his voice is broken and breathy when he mumbles awkwardly, "you shouldn't...this...not appropriate..." and the failed sentence is lost between the boy's teeth.

Klaus isn't sure he can justify the length of time it takes for him to pull away. The boy smiles, his hand still resting on Klaus' cheek despite the fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist. "Don't you want me, Herr Schmidt?" he says, and it's not really a question because he asks it whilst palming the erection Klaus found impossible to avoid, doesn't wait for an answer, just puts his mouth back where it was and Klaus is just thinking that ejaculating in his underwear isn't something he's ever done when he does, and feels the boys smiling lips against his as he jerks forward, his frame collapsing and his unwilling hands clasping the boy to his chest in the most despicable way which feels lovely. "Tell me your name," he gasps, not sure if he really wants to know.

"Erik Lehnsherr," replies the boy, almost shyly. "You're not going to...tell anyone, are you?"

Klaus laughs at this first display of naivety, the way the boy seems oblivious to the fact that he could have been put away for the second he shut that door, that he could have been _hanged_ for the last five minutes- it's almost charming.

"Erik Lehnsherr..." he says to himself, enjoying the way it falls off his tongue, inadvertantly loving every syllable while he takes in as much of the boy as he can with his eyes. This is Erik Lehnsherr, who came to the library with who knows what intentions. Erik, with the endless legs that tangle about Klaus' body, with the shoes scuffed by the childish drag of his toes, with the stare that dictates that you sin, the mouth that invites you to bite, the hair that could look so lovely were it pulled out of its careful comb- Erik, whose whole self asks to be ruined and debauched and loved and claimed. Whose shirt has slipped from his shoulder, giving a hint of what it might look like were Klaus the one to claim him.

Erik's fingers are wet. He brings them to his mouth and sucks on them, one by one, eyes on Klaus to make sure he's watching. _As if he'd be doing anything else._ He watches Klaus' eyes grow wider, hears his breath fall heavier, feels his cock stir and enjoys dragging it out until he feels like it's time enough to undo the buttons of his shirt. Klaus reaches up and pushes the crisp fabric from his shoulders, exposing the milky flesh stretched across growing bones, unmarked and unseen and unexplored. Klaus wants to taste every inch of it, so he begins at his neck, not so much kissing as sucking and tasting and relishing the impossibly smooth texture and the tiny beads of sweat at the base of his throat. He can feel Erik clumsily undoing his belt, he'd move but he doesn't want to stop tasting, but Erik slides neatly off his lap and tugs at his trousers until Klaus takes them off, feeling exposed as Erik walks away from him. He panics momentarily that the boy's about to literally take off and leave him with his pants around his ankles but Erik has something else in mind. He leans back against the heavy desk, pulls his shirt all the way off and undoes the button on his shorts. Then he just waits, his head cocked to the side, his chest bare and his shorts balancing on his hips and that look is expectant.

Klaus doesn't feel up to walking so when he gets off the chair he crawls, perversely loving the feeling of the floor beneath his knees, enjoying the sensation of appearing at Erik's mercy- perhaps it's a step towards making them equals, although however much Klaus wishes it were it's inescapably not the case. Klaus places his hands over Erik's ankles, reverently slides off his shoes and socks, kisses his feet and slides hands up his slim calves. He longs for the time and space to worship this perfect, unmarred body, this delicate angelic being who gives himself so happily. He glides his fingers softly upwards, reaches the shorts and pulls them down carefully, replacing them with his mouth in a way so seamless he hopes Erik won't feel that brief embarrassment at being exposed so suddenly- it's not like he would, of course, Erik arches his neck back in response, moans quietly when Klaus breathes over his cock through his underwear. He slides fingers delicately into the waistband, coaxes them down and off Erik's feet and can't help but take a second to admire him, naked, perfect and beautiful- and waiting for Klaus.

Klaus wraps his hands around Erik’s hips, they span too much space. He licks at the base of his cock and Erik sighs and his hands hover awkwardly around Klaus’ head like he’s afraid to touch. When Klaus swallows him down, however, he grasps frantically, unintentionally and it feels good to be the one making it happen. He tries to pull back, just kisses and licks because he can hear Erik being undone by it, can feel him tugging helplessly on his hair like a lifeline and he’d be moving his hips if Klaus wasn’t holding him still. He sucks hard suddenly, just to see what happens but Erik makes this noise and pushes Klaus’ head back and he pulls off in a panic, looks up to see Erik smile as he comes over Klaus’ open mouth. He closes his eyes and licks his lips and tries not to think about how he got here. Erik licks him too, his cheekbone and the side of his nose and then underneath his ear which feels beautiful so he’s letting himself be cleaned, just kneeling there, submissive and he feels like he’s praying at the altar of Erik Lehnsherr. When he opens his eyes he sees Erik still leaning against the desk and half hard again already and he looks impeccable and spotless and smiling and Klaus is overcome with an urge to ruin him completely. A person this dangerous shouldn't look so angelic. He stands, lifts Erik by the waist and sits him on the desk, sweeping books out the way before he lays him out gently and props up his legs. Klaus is so hard he can’t think straight and he pushes his face back up to Erik’s crotch, licks everywhere until he reaches his hole which flinches and that won’t do so he shoves his tongue in as hard as he can and Erik cries out in surprise. He’s making him as wet as possible, working in and out before he adds his forefinger which pushes and stretches and bends and makes Erik gasp even more and his cock get fully hard again. Klaus adds another finger, feeling reckless and stupid and dizzy and trying to block out all other thoughts because if he stopped for a moment he might actually consider the situation in hand which could be deadly. He can’t stop. He removes his tongue and sucks Erik’s dick and there is nothing about this that isn’t horrendously obscene, the tightness around his hand and the way he presses in with his face and Klaus has never seen anything so pornographic let alone be a part of it and he feels like he has to keep touching to make sure it’s all real.

Erik is as ready as he'll ever be. If anything, if Klaus drags this out any longer he'll lose his nerve and everything will come crashing down on him and that would be awful. If anything, Klaus can't take the sight of him anymore. He stands, pushes Erik back across the table and eases in, watches himself disappear into Erik and has to stop to force himself not to come from the sight of it. He leans forward and pushes in too far and too fast and Erik cries out but he can't help it, he's lost perspective from the strangeness of the situation, forces himself to believe he's imagining it so no one can get hurt, tells himself he wouldn't do this really, it's not him, it's not something that would happen, and he looks up and sees Erik bite down on his bottom lip and it forces him to move. Erik keeps making noises and it's stupidly erotic and he's going to start making noises too but he doesn't want to so he locks his mouth onto the gap between Erik's neck and shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. Erik is hot and tight around him and it feels like he's receiving sensations from nerve endings he doesn't think he has and he wonders if this manner in which they're so well fused together could cause him to feel what Erik's feeling as well but that's got to just be his imagination but it doesn't make it any less overwhelming. He's abandoned, drowning just outside his safety vessel and panicking, crashing into Erik again and again, trying to make it enough to stop his skin crawling like this and it's like there's an itch he's not quite getting, like every part of him that isn't in contact with Erik is burning and he can't touch him enough. He wants Erik wrapped around him, he wants Erik full of him and inside him simultaneously, he wants to be in Erik's head as well as his own and he shifts further onto the desk, shoving Erik's legs into position recklessly, one over his shoulder and one at his waist, and he fucks him, merciless and unstoppable, furious and ecstatic and totally, entirely out of control. Erik is gasping and he looks delectable. Klaus doesn't want to translate what he feels as he drives into him too clearly for fear he'll realise something he doesn't want to, something like he enjoys this power or this advantage or this situation and he never wants this to happen again but really he wants it to happen every single day because he doesn't think he'll ever really get enough of this...whatever it is. Whatever perverse thing holds him here. He's too close, he's watching Erik's breath and it's going to be over, he takes hold of Erik's dick and pulls too fast, irregular and awkward but Erik doesn't need much until his back arches up into Klaus and he comes over his stomach. Klaus watches it happen, watches it cover him, ruin him, feels it on his skin the next time he drives in, breathes them both in, hears Erik's gasp and it's a sensational overdose that forces itself out of him, he comes whilst pulling out and it's all over Erik, all over the desk and that awful pornography he had earlier is nothing in comparison to this debauched image.

Klaus sits on the bench outside the library smoking a cigarette. His shift finished twenty minutes ago and now he's watching a tiny figure disappear from view. He doesn't want to think about it. Not now, not in fading daylight when grandmothers walk past him with a smile, parents with their children bid him good evening, trusting and innocent and heavy hands over his conscience. His jacket hangs over his shoulder, he used it to hastily wipe away all evidence but he knows that desk and that room would still stink of the incident were it demolished and rebuilt. A woman waves. Klaus smiles amicably. She could be his mother. A group of boys walk past wearing the familiar dark green uniform. In some ways they look older than Erik- they're tall, their faces thinner, their shoulders broader and their limbs more muscular. In others, they're younger- no second glance to the old man on the bench, headed for the sweet shop after school, talking loudly about girls in their class and it makes Klaus wonder who exactly it was he met in the library. There are things he can sort out in his mind- comfortably, that's he's never going to see the boy again (perhaps he should change his shift, perhaps he should change his name, perhaps he should move away and never come back-), uncomfortably, that he's never going to forget what he looked like. What he looked like dressed. What he looked like on his knees. What he looked like spread out on a desk. What he looked like fucked out and breathless, eyes fluttering and tongue flicking out over his lips like he was tasting who he'd just become. He's definitely never going to forget that- but perhaps, one day, perhaps tonight, perhaps the image will warm him, excite him, thrill him when he pretends it's just a fantasy, just his own hand that for one day felt mysteriously like the mouth of a beautiful, fictional boy.


End file.
